


you are the moon

by addandsubtract



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Kid Fic, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-14
Updated: 2012-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-14 05:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It would be wrong to pretend that Jackson doesn’t plan. By the time he’s standing in front of the maternity ward, hood drawn up over his head, he’s got it as figured out as he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are the moon

**Author's Note:**

> so this is the story that [queenitsy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/queenitsy/pseuds/queenitsy) decided I should write - wherein jackson steals the baby born in episode seven after matt suffocates her mother. some things:
> 
> 1\. I have no idea what gender the baby is on the show, so I basically just decided I felt like writing a girl. if I got it wrong, or that bothers you, I’m sorry. 
> 
> 2\. this goes au after episode seven, restraint. since it’s pretty hard to tell how much time has passed between episodes on this show, I’m assuming that the pregnant lady incident happens sometime in the winter – I’m going with february-ish because I can.
> 
> 3\. I did my best to stay canon-compliant, but I took some liberties, obviously, with a bunch of things. all inconsistencies and typos are mine! feel free to point out anything I missed.

**i.**

It would be wrong to pretend that Jackson doesn’t plan. By the time he’s standing in front of the maternity ward, hood drawn up over his head, he’s got it as figured out as he can. He's mostly running on intensity and guilt. He looks for her name, the woman found smothered in her bed, and it doesn’t take long. It doesn’t take long at all, not to slip inside the room, not to lift the baby up into his arms, not to shush her softly, look down into her huge, blue eyes. She looks up at him and doesn’t cry, and he knows, then, that he’s making the right decision.

 

**ii.**

He takes his mother’s Explorer instead of the Porsche – more room in the back, and safer to drive. He fastens the baby into the car seat he bought her, and he wonders when the hospital will know what he’s done. It won’t take a genius to roll back over the security tapes, but he thinks he kept his face mostly covered. Not that it guarantees him anything.

He drives and drives. Up the coast, north and even further north. He changes the baby in a truck stop bathroom and she still doesn’t cry, though her brow furrows, and she flails out at him, grabbing hold of his fingers where she can. He decides to call her Lilah, and he keeps driving. 

His mother’s sister was younger, had her children late, and so Jackson remembers what to do – remembers how to change a diaper, how to heat the formula and check the temperature, how to walk slowly around the motel room, singing softly under his breath, until she falls asleep, her soft head tucked underneath his chin.

He’d left his phone on his desk at home, just in case, and so he buys a pay-as-you-go cell in a 7-11 just over the Oregon border. He has enough cash to get them somewhere new, and he’ll figure it out from there.

She doesn’t sleep through the night, but he catches hours here and there, where he can. He’s on a hair trigger, waking at the slightest movement. During the day he drives. He keeps driving.

 

**iii.**

He stops for good in a town called Ferndale, less than half an hour south of the Canadian border. He could keep moving, but he doesn’t want to get too low on cash before he needs to buy Lilah more diapers, or formula, or before he can get a job. He’s not sure what he’s going to do, yet. He doesn’t have any skills besides playing lacrosse and losing large chunks of time, though that hasn’t happened since Lilah. He’s less scared than he’s been in awhile.

She fusses sometimes, her forehead wrinkling, but he’s never heard her make a sound. He doesn’t mind when she smiles up at him, when he calls her name and she looks at him with wide blue eyes and flails her little fists. She’s perfect.

“I won’t let anyone take you,” he whispers to her, and she smiles up at him, innocent, and he won’t. He’ll protect her.

 

**iv.**

He shaves his head and gets a job bussing tables at the diner on the main drag. The manger, Marcy, looks him up and down – face, shoulders, feet, and back up – and says, “Do you have any experience?” instead of, _get the fuck out of here_ , or _where are your parents?_

“No, but I’m a fast learner,” he says, and does his best to look like he’s telling the truth. He thinks that he is. He’s never had to have a job before.

Marcy sighs. “Okay, we’ll give you a try. But don’t think you’re getting more than minimum wage.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and then, “Sometimes my mom has to work late, is it okay if I bring my little sister? She’s really quiet, and I can set her up at one of the back tables, out of way.”

Marcy looks for a moment like she’s going to balk, and Jackson can feel his whole body tense. Her eyes sharpen on him, and he hopes she can’t tell what he’s so afraid of. Finally, she just rolls her eyes and says, “Just make sure she’s quiet.”

 

**v.**

Jackson misses school, sometimes. Misses home. This far north it gets colder than he’s used to, and he ends up having to buy a few thicker sweaters, some tiny baby hoodies and mittens, even though it’s tingeing toward spring, now.

None of the regulars look askance at him anymore, not even when he brings Lilah and sets her up at the bar in front of Paul. Paul is a huge, cheerful man, and he runs the cash register and makes the coffee, and he coos over Lilah like she’s his daughter – he has three. Marcy’s even stopped giving her wide berth, like she might spit-up at any moment. When it’s slow, Jackson will sit next to Lilah at the bar, and make silly faces at her, and try to mention his nonexistent mom’s job at the airport two towns over. It’s a small enough place that he’s pretty sure they know he’s lying, but he’s not going to ask, and they don’t, either, so he lets it lie. 

The first month is the hardest – sometimes he has to choose between feeding Lilah and feeding himself. Sometimes he gets one hour of sleep after working a double, when he just can’t get Lilah to settle down. Sometimes he’s afraid he’s not going to be able to pay for the room he’s renting, and that they’ll be out on the street – two children, alone. Then Marcy quietly gives him a raise, and even if most of his money still goes to living costs and food, he’s making it by. He even manages to take Lilah to the doctor to get her shots. 

“Cleanup at table 30, Jackson,” one of the servers, Janice, says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He looks up from feeding Lilah lunch, and says, “Uh, yeah, gimme a sec. I’ll be right there, sorry.”

“It’s fine, we’re slow as hell. Just letting you know they’ve gone. Sorry about the mess the kids left.” She smiles at him, her sharp chin softened with the curve of her smile. She’s been flirting with him on and off for the past couple weeks but Jackson can’t imagine doing anything about it right now, and anyway, she’s six years older than he is.

He shrugs. “It’s the job, what can you do?” He shifts Lilah into a better position, and can’t help smiling down at her. “Right, Li?”

She just blinks up at him, and keeps drinking.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Janice says, something resigned in her voice.

“Thanks, sorry,” Jackson says, and doesn’t look up.

 

**vi.**

In May, Paul invites Jackson to one of his daughter’s birthday parties. She’s turning three, and Jackson’s not sure if Paul wants an extra hand or to see Jackson unwind a little. He says the former, but probably means the latter.

Jackson brings Lilah with him, and puts her in the pen with Paul’s youngest, and one of the other guests’ little boy.

“Paul’s mentioned you enough times, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Paul’s wife, Gloria, says. She’s got a big, wide smile and very white teeth. Jackson can’t help but smile back.

“He talks about you all the time at the diner,” Jackson says, and sneaks a glance over to the pen. He’s positioned himself where he can still see her – she’s so silent that it’s hard to know if she’s unhappy without looking. She seems fine, now, though, crawling around with the other babies.

Gloria laughs. “I know that glance. She’s fine, don’t worry – you’re in safe company. I don’t begrudge you a little paranoia, though, especially since Paul says she’s very quiet.”

“Yeah,” Jackson says, dragging his attention back to Gloria. “She never cries. She doesn’t really make any noise at all. I can’t help but worry, though I guess for you it might seem like a relief?”

Gloria laughs. “That sounds about right.”

Jackson doesn’t want to lie, but he can’t tell her about how he wonders, sometimes, if Lilah remembers her mother’s death, and how he’s pretty sure she saved his life, and she kept him from being a horrible monster, and that she’s the only anchor he has right now. He has no one to tell any of that to.

“Thank you for inviting me, by the way. I’m sorry I didn’t get Amelia a present,” he says, to get himself back on solid ground.

“Oh, no, don’t worry about it! I’m just glad you could make it,” Gloria says, with another one of those brilliant smiles. Jackson tries to keep his relief out of the smile he gives her in return.

 

**vii.**

The first time Jackson turns on the burner phone, it’s Danny’s birthday. Danny was born in the summer, and he’s older than most of the kids in their grade, but it never really mattered. Now Jackson is wondering if it’s been long enough. If seven months is long enough to go without contact.

In the end, he makes the call.

“Hello?” Danny says, distracted.

“Hi, Danny,” Jackson says, heart in his throat. Lilah is in her crib across the room, napping. He has a shift in six hours. It’s crazy how much she’s grown. “Happy birthday.”

“Ja – _Jackson_?” Jackson hears the surprise in Danny’s voice, hears the sound of Danny scrambling to sit up, or something – ambient movement. “Where the fuck have you been? Where _are_ you?”

“I –” Jackson says, and he’s homesick sometimes, he misses his parents, but he’s more afraid of someone taking Lilah away than he is sad. “I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry, Danny, but I can’t.”

“Jesus, Jackson – do you know – we’ve all been so worried. Your parents are going crazy. It’s been – you’ve been gone seven months.”

“I know,” Jackson says, and wonders if this was a good idea after all. “I just wanted to say – I mean.”

“Did you really take that baby, Jackson?” Danny sounds so serious that it just stops Jackson short for a moment. “Because the hospital – the police, think you did. Why would you do that?”

Jackson pauses, holding himself rigid, thinking about it. He knew there would probably be police involved, but he’d hoped – fuck. Has he gone far enough? Are the police going to find them?

“Ask – make Stilinski tell you. I can’t – I have to go. Stilinski will know why,” Jackson says, because it’s true. There’s no way Stiles doesn’t have it all figured out by now. He’s breathing too quickly, and he knows, now, that he should have just fucking stayed away. “Just – tell my parents I’m okay, alright? I’m fine, I promise. I’ll just – I shouldn’t have called.”

“Jackson –” Danny says, and Jackson hangs up, throws the phone onto the bed. Part of him wanted to make Danny tell his parents that he loves them, because he does, he knows now better than ever, but they would never have believed that he was okay if he had. He looks at Lilah and thinks, not for the first time, how much he’s probably hurt them.

 

**viii.**

Jackson’s working the second half of a double when Stiles walks in. He glances up out of habit when the bell on the doorway jingles, automatically checking how big the party’s going to be, and sees the buzzed hair, the plaid shirt, the twitching mannerisms. He ducks his head, turning his back, grateful that he’s let his hair get longer, but not sure it’ll be enough. Not sure, even, how Stiles is here at all.

The trees have mostly shed their leaves, now, and in two and a half months Jackson will have been here for a year. He wonders if Stiles has come to make him go home.

He glances over at Lilah. Paul has her out of her seat and is holding her over his head, making her grin. She’s still never made a real sound, but the pediatrician Jackson takes her to when he can said there’s nothing physically wrong with her. Now she’s laughing silently, clearly delighted, and Jackson wants to get her the fuck out of here before Stiles sees her.

Jackson is glancing over his shoulder again, watching Stiles sit at the end of the bar, when Marcy comes out of the back. She’s got a stack of napkins under one arm, obviously taking the opportunity to restock while they’re not busy.

“Everything okay?” she asks, following his eyes, and putting a hand on his arm. She was just talking last week about training him to serve, and now he’s probably going to have to leave. He doesn’t want to leave.

“I – yeah, fine,” he says, and she quirks her mouth, plainly skeptical. “I’m going to take my break.”

“If you’re – okay, yeah, sure,” she says, and pats his arm.

Jackson takes a deep breath, pulls himself together as best he can, and walks across the restaurant, pulling himself up into the chair next to Stiles.

“Stilinski,” he says, keeping his voice mild. He doesn’t have the energy to pull his asshole persona out of the ether. He hasn’t worn it in so long that he’s not sure he can anymore. Instead, he just does his best not to look like he’s about to fly apart at the seams.

“Whoa,” Stiles says, and jolts, and turns. “Jesus Christ, Jackson. You’re – you look different.”

Jackson shrugs. “It’s been more than nine months. I’m bound to.” Though Stiles doesn’t, really. Not at all, actually. Jackson pushes his bangs out of his face, and glances back over at Lilah.

“Wow,” Stiles says, “so that’s her? You really haven’t killed her or anything.”

“No, I haven’t fucking killed her,” Jackson says, low and livid, because, Jesus, he wasn’t going to kill a baby. He obviously hadn’t wanted to kill a baby to begin with. He doesn’t know exactly what was going on with him before he left Beacon Hills, how much of what Stiles had told him was true, but he’s pretty sure he’d never kill a child.

“Oh,” Stiles says, “I didn’t mean it like – I didn’t think – wow, yeah, that came out badly, sorry.”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Stilinski? How did you even know I was here?”

“I, uh – didn’t know you were here, exactly, I legitimately just wanted some coffee, but you do realize that your best bro is a super hacker, right? As if he wasn’t going to try to trace the call the moment he heard your voice. And before you ask, no, he didn’t tell your parents or the police. He didn’t even want to tell me, but when I explained the whole, you know. Kanima thing, he said –”

Jackson’s fingertips are digging into the countertop so hard that his hand is beginning to cramp up, and he’s not looking at Stiles at all, just staring out at the coffeemaker.

“Jackson?” Stiles asks, something worried in his voice.

“Does Derek know that I’m here?” He can’t help the question – Derek terrifies him, has tried to kill him at least twice, maybe more, and if Derek knows where Lilah is, there’s no way Jackson will be able to protect her.

“I – no, Jackson,” Stiles says, almost gentle, and Jackson hates him for a second, so blinding and urgent that he has to hold his breath against it. Stiles, who is here, ruining everything he’s spent a year building for himself and for Lilah. When he lets out the breath, it shakes. “Scott doesn’t even know I’m here. No one does except Danny. I promise.”

“And – and Matt?” Not much has come back from the large chunks of missing time, but what he has remembered remains – disturbing. He doesn’t think he’s the same as when he left, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t scared. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t wake up sometimes with his heart pounding in his chest, blunt, human fingernails clutching at the bed sheets.

“He’s – we’ve taken care of him. You don’t really want to know, uh, trust me. You’ve missed a lot. But I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t – if we didn’t have the situation under control.” Stiles shifts on the stool, uncomfortable.

“Fine,” he says, and slides out of the seat. “I’m off in six hours. We’ll talk then.”

 

**ix.**

Stiles stays for a week. It’s winter break, and he’s fashioned some kind of cover for the time away from home. Jackson doesn’t ask.

Stiles sleeps on his floor, curled up with an extra blanket and pillow. He doesn’t appear to have trouble sleeping, but Jackson does. Sometimes he’ll just slide out of bed in his boxers and watch Lilah sleep, wondering if he’s really doing the best he can for her. What he’ll do when she needs to go to school, when she starts to understand their situation. He doesn’t want her to grow up afraid that they’ll get separated. He just doesn’t know how to be sure that they won’t be. But she has no one, and she’ll go to foster care, and he couldn’t stand that. He couldn’t _stand_ it. He may have gotten lucky with his parents, but there’s no telling, and it’s his fault that she has no one. He killed her father.

He tries to explain it to Stiles, just once.

“She’s just like me,” he says, between gritted teeth. Stiles is sitting on the bed, kicking his feet against the bedspread, and Jackson is getting ready for his next shift. Stiles offered to babysit, but Jackson can’t let him. “She’s – her parents are both dead, like mine. She doesn’t have anyone, and I don’t want her to grow up without someone who understands what that’s like.” Jackson cuts himself off, wishes he hadn’t said anything so fervently that it’s like bile in the back of his throat. Stiles is staring at him with something like clarity, like something has snapped into place for him, and Jackson can’t look at him. He doesn’t want to see that.

“Let’s go, okay? I have to get to work.”

During the day, Stiles comes with him to work, and hangs out with Lilah. Paul takes a quick liking to him, and Jackson can’t even begrudge it. Stiles does his best to convince Jackson to come home. Jackson does his best not to want to.

 

**x.**

When he leaves, Stiles gives Jackson a hug. A real one, close enough that Jackson can feel Stiles’s heart beating, and he says, “It’ll be fine, if you come home. We’ll make sure of it, okay? I’ll talk to my dad and – we’ll figure something out.”

Jackson doesn’t say anything back, because he can’t figure out how to say thank you without making it plain just how desperate he feels. He lets go first, and watching Stiles shake Lilah’s hand, climb into his Jeep, and head south.

 

**xi.**

Marcy finds him outside, not long after the snow starts falling. It’s snowed before, here, but not this hard – tiny snowflakes already piling up on the sidewalks. If it keeps up like this, they’ll have to close the diner early.

“Jackson,” she says, softly, like she doesn’t want to break the moment. “Go home.”

He doesn’t know if she means back to his tiny room, or back to Beacon Hills, but he’s not sure it matters.

 

**xii.**

Jackson’s key still works in the front door to his parents’ house. It’s just after 10PM, and Lilah is sleeping when he picks her up out of her car seat and props her on his hip. She stirs, tucks her little blonde head underneath his chin, and goes immediately back to sleep. The trees here are bare, but there’s no snow. The air is harsh on his bare face, and he tucks Lilah close to his body.

His mother is sitting at the kitchen table, doing a crossword. He remembers this, too - when she can’t sleep, she’ll stay up doing jigsaws or crosswords, hoping to tire herself out. She looks up, and sees him, and bursts into tears. She hugs him carefully, like he might break.

“Please don’t let them take her away,” he says, a catch in his throat, and his mother touches Lilah’s head, looking at the confident way he holds her. He’s seventeen, and he feels much older.

“We won’t,” she says, and he has to hope that it’s the truth.


End file.
